


A Backwards Persephone

by lodessa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-19
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's come back, transformed and devoid of those thingsthat made her question the absolute nature of his corruption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Backwards Persephone

He has returned to England. She’s always known that he would and now the talk of it is a terrible thing. Naturally, no one is admitting to any sort of concern on that account, but she’s heard the whispers. It’s nothing definite or concrete but she’s been waiting all these years for this time to come. She knew he’d never be content in self imposed exile, and it turns out she was right. He’s come back, transformed and devoid of those things that made her question the absolute nature of his corruption.

 

He’s back and the authorities are creating paranoia claiming things are otherwise than dangerous. Reassurances can be far more terrifying than warnings. Ever since Gindewald, they’ve been waiting for the next great catastrophe. Neurosis has reached a fevered pitch. Voldemort is more than what they are anticipating though. They need something to fight against, but they have underestimated what he is and can be. They do not know what is in store for them. He is not some dragon to be tamed. There is no good free-spirit under all the malice and destructive desire. There is only hatred and ambition fermenting under decades of applied pressure. He was rotten long before his skin turned sallow and his eyes lost their luster. 

 

So she can’t just sit still and stay calm like all the pamphlets advise. She goes to Albus for the truth. It’s late at night, but he doesn’t seem at all taken aback. It is like he’s been waiting for her. He offers her tea and sweets, like always, and they talk about Tom and the Ministry. Within the space of an hour she feels both better and worse. It is as bad as she thought, but at the same time there is more hope. Albus is organizing a resistance group, and that makes her feel better, far more so than any Ministry special task force possibly could. Still, Albus is worried and that is a worse sign than any Minerva has ever seen.

 

“Will you join us, Minerva?” He asks, there’s a twinkle in his eye but his voice is terribly serious.

 

Of course she will. She has been waiting for this. She was on the lookout before many of them were even born. It seems strange that people so young should be old enough for these kinds of decisions already. The thought troubles her. She knows that youth cannot last forever. Her hair is still thick and black and her back is still straight. Her arms are strong, time has not yet started to gnaw at her bones and will. Still, it is a strange sensation to realize that, although she is not yet old, she is no longer young.

 

He is no longer young either. He has done something worse than aging.

 

She has not laid eyes on him in decades but, if the reports hold any grain of truth, he is not young anymore. Word is out of hideous transformations, and Minerva can’t help thinking that his quest for immortality and omnipotence has so far just destroyed what he was given at birth. And it was not an insubstantial gift.

 

She remembers Tom Riddle, handsome faced with an easy laugh and a string of admirers following always. He had seemed destined for great success. He was good at school and good with girls. He’d been only a 5th year when Minerva graduated but that hadn’t kept the girls of her year from being interested. It didn’t matter what house you were in or what your type was; Tom Riddle was unanimously liked and desired.

 

She’d never been able to understand why he’d wandered off into obscurity after graduation. There were plenty of places that would have hired him, dozen of departments in the Ministry that he could have worked for. He’d left after graduation though, not to be heard of again until now, and she couldn’t understand why. Why would someone with everything in front of them renounce it? It made no sense.

 

Albus says that the darkness within him could not stand scrutiny, that the façade was bound to crack and reveal his true self. Minerva has to accept that as true since there is no better explanation. Still it was hard at first to see evil in the chiseled features so oft admired.

 

Tom had always had that effect. He made you want to suspend disbelief and deny the possibility of what you had seen with your own eyes. Bloodstained hands did not have to mean guilt on him. There had to be a way to make it heroism, to make it innocence. Of all the girls Minerva had seen cry over him, none had cursed his existence. They all, inevitably, blamed their own failings for the dissatisfaction, loss, and suffering. She had seen professors, bend over in apology for being mistaken in grading Tom’s work. The world had really seemed to twist every which way around him.

 

Apparently that had not been enough, however. Apparently that had meant nothing to him since he’d so callously tossed it away. No, he had not merely tossed it away but made war on it.

 

 

 

The students are all talking about Him, and not all of them with horror and revulsion. Miss Bellatrix Black seems to be positively glowing as she calls him The Dark Lord. Minerva shudders inwardly and sternly gives the girl detention for talking out of turn in class. There’s nothing more she can do at the moment.

 

Bellatrix is not even recalcitrant and spiteful like usual, when she arrives to serve detention. She’s still flushed and excited in a way that Minerva cannot ignore. Tom always had this effect on people.

 

She remembers the other girls crowding around her after that fateful day at Hogsmeade, jealous and curious. They had so many questions. Minerva had just wanted to be left alone. 

 

Bellatrix begs to be asked with every breath.

 

Minerva wonders what kind of lies He has told the girl. She wonders how many girls he’s told them to. 

 

She’d wanted to believe him, back then. Maybe she had believed all the claims about love and her making him a better man. She’s certainly had pangs of guilt when she considers the possibility that maybe she really could have stopped all of this, even though Albus has always told her otherwise. But even then she could not sanction or forgive what he had done and she thinks she was right not to.

 

He’d never been the slightest bit contrite. The suffering and deaths he caused were nothing to him. He claimed he’d change to satisfy her, but not because it was wrong. He’d never seen it as wrong. Minerva remembers the gentle firmness of his hands on hers and the overwhelming desire to say yes, to give him what he wanted, but she wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing and she wasn’t going to be the paramour of a murderer who wasn’t in the least bit reformed. Had he even claimed to regret his actions, she would have wanted to save him, but in that at least he had told her the truth (a strange mercy) and she could not in good conscience give herself to him under the circumstances.

 

It was probably just as well. Tom had only ever seen people as vehicles to achieve what he wanted. She knew that it was true, however much it had felt otherwise. 

 

Bellatrix, it seems, gave in to the bait. Her very presence reverberates with his influence, and Minerva wishes she could open a window for some fresh air, but that would be to show a sign of weakness. 

 

Instead she sits behind her desk, trying to maintain the semblance of being able to grade papers. The clock has never ticked more slowly and Minerva considers what she might say to the girl to change her mind and save the part of her soul that must still be lurking under his influence. It is in evidence, for Tom’s laugh was never shrill like that and his smile was never as cruel. Bellatrix Black has always been a haughty and malicious child. Minerva never thought she would come to any good, but she still wishes there was something to be done to save her from Tom’s grasp.

 

No not Tom anymore; he’s shed his human semblance.

 

It is not a time for silence.

 

“Miss Black. I know that you must think of me as dull and unaware of the world outside Hogwarts, but I know things you cannot imagine. I know why you are so filled with excitement and it feels me with dread not through inexperience, but because I’ve seen this before. He’s always had that effect on people, even when he was no older than yourself. Yes, I knew the man who has become the thing you call Master when he was but a child like myself. Some people would have said we were close, though I don’t truly think anyone was ever close to him….. Not really.”

 

She stops abruptly as the girl’s body goes limp then sits up straight, straighter than can be natural. His presence is stronger than ever. Minerva can hardly breathe.

 

“So at last we meet again, my love.” Bellatrix is moving her mouth but Minerva knows immediately that she is not the one who is speaking, “The years have been kinder to you than to me I think. But it is no matter. I can find a new form like this one, any time. Does this skin please you, Minerva? I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, why you of all girls refused me, and I started to wonder if you mightn’t have preferred a supple girl like this one. She is exquisite, our little Miss Black: ivory skin, beautiful curves... But I can tell from your expression that you are no impressed. Perhaps you’d prefer a golden waif?”

 

She isn’t sure whether to be horrified or laugh at how little he understands her refusal. He thinks it is about flesh when it is about what is intangible, his corruption and the hollowness where compassion should lie.

 

“Let her go Tom. You should know by now that your lack of respect for others is revolting to me. It doesn’t matter what face you put on. I know too much about you to be fooled.”

 

She will not let him intimidate her.

 

“How do you know you haven’t been, sweet? How do you know that the chance encounter in Rome all those years ago wasn’t really me seeking you out? Or that night in the leaky cauldron, when that old classmate just seemed different….”

 

Bellatrix’s hand feels cold against her cheek, and she has to fight the urge to shrink away. This is grotesque and unnatural. She cannot let him have the upper hand though.

 

“It doesn’t matter what form you take Tom. Your essence reeks of corruption and depravity and that is what has always kept me from you, even when the alluring form you had was your own. Shame you sacrificed the best thing you had going for you.”

 

“How could it have been the best thing, if it was still useless to attain the one thing I really wanted?”

 

He can still turn on the charm, but she’s not a girl anymore, “Tom, honestly, that’s a bit maudlin at our age….”

 

Bellatrix’s face contorts to fit a laugh made for a stronger jaw line and heavier brow.

 

“How can I help it when you are still to sentimental to understand what I am offering you. We could be gods Minerva, like you are in name.”

 

She is not, and has never been, what he truly wants. Power is his true love and she merely represents it, through her refusal to acquiesce like those that have come before and after her.

 

“Look what happened to Agamemnon when he sacrificed his daughter for glory, Tom. Power achieved through the suffering of others only ever brings misery and one’s own downfall. I have no desire to be more than I am meant to be.”

 

“But you are more than the spinster school teacher, Minerva and you will be called out like Achilles from amongst the maidens.”

 

“That was to his downfall, Tom. Can you not heed the tragedy of Icarus?”

 

“Suffering is a part of growth, my love. Think about Eros and Psyche.”

 

“You mistake the story. It is about holding back and remorse, two things you’ve never subscribed to doing in your life.”

 

“I asked you once to teach me. Whose fault is it that you refused?”

 

This conversation recites prettily like a play well practiced and it might as well be. The classics were ever their shield and sword during their school days. Minerva has had enough.

 

“Leave me well enough alone Tom. You know me well enough to know I will not harm this girl’s body, enraptured by you as she may be, but I will not hesitate to destroy you personally and that is not like to change. This argument is stale and I tire of it.”

 

She sits back down and goes back to grading. The air is still heavy with his enchantment and it is like working through a liquid, but she persists and sees, out of the corner of her eye, that Bellatrix has gone limp and after that the tension dissipates and by the end of the hour she is able to calmly dismiss the girl, resisting the urge to try again to reach her because of the zealotry in her eyes when she is herself. 

 

It is too late to sway Bellatrix without first breaking His hold by force.

 

So force it must be then. There is a time for reason and there is a time for arms.

 

 

 

The baby is screaming when they arrive. Children can sense evil more strongly than adults. Then again, here the malicious spirit is more than clearly evident. The cries are mixed with the horrible sound of Bellatrix’s laughter, not quite other and not quite her own. It chills Minerva to the bone. The visual is not any better. Alice and Frank sit placidly where they are tied to the dining room chairs, a posture unnatural for parents whose child is being dangled in front of a wand by a madwoman. She does not seem to register that the threats she was making cannot penetrate through the trauma already inflicted. If is as if she does not even see them.

 

It is a cruel mockery of a little girl playing make-believe, but this little girl is not innocent or harmless. The men… …boys are transfixed by her as they stare, enraptured not horrified. Minerva cannot help wondering if they might not be as damaged as the couple before her. 

 

Still it makes them easy to take out, and Bellatrix does not even blink until Minerva is right in her face. She indicates for Remus and Moody to hold back. Bellatrix’s eyes refocus like someone who is trying to readjust to the light being turned on after pitch black. Recognition brings a sly smirk to her face.

 

“Give him to me, Bellatrix.”

 

It is a command not a request, yet she is somewhat surprised when the mad woman heeds her. Bellatrix’s eyes remain fixed on the Longbottoms though, wistfully.

 

“They are all broken,” she says mournfully, “All broken with no fun like Cissy’s dolls after I made them dance. There won’t be any answers, not even with the deepest legimency. He’s angry. I wasn’t supposed to break the surface. No blood. You don’t like blood do you, Professor?”

 

“It’s time to go now,” Minerva says it gently, even a spirit as violent as Bellatrix’s is a sad sight to see broken. There are no winners here, only destruction. He is dangerous even after his fall, after everything seemed safe at last.

 

Bellatrix seems somehow limp, like a toy that was once charmed but now is disenchanted and forgotten. Minerva feels a strange sense of guilt that she couldn’t stop Him while there was something left of the girl to save.

 

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, reaching out to pry Bellatrix’s wand from her fingers, “I should have taken up the spear long ago.”

 

Suddenly Bellatrix’s hand tightens around her wand and Minerva has to jump back to avoid the other hand as she reaches out to claw her like an animal.

 

Bellatrix is quick like a cat, but Minerva has decades of feline reflexes. For a moment Minerva almost expects Him, but it is only the desperate shell of ruin he has left behind. In the end, Tom was right about one thing: she is the goddess, wise as well as fearsome, while the younger woman is a mere Amazon, shrieking like Eris on her brother’s chariot. Minerva’s wand is out and ready before her opponent can even open her mouth and their spells break like conflicting waves upon each other. She never sees the petrifaction coming from Moody, behind her, and suddenly Bellatrix is a statue, face contorted with rabid madness.

 

Minerva shifts the weight of Neville in her arms. He’s strangely quiet there and Minerva looks down at the baby face that has not quite formed into Alice’s warm heart shape and the mouth that hasn’t hardened into Frank’s kind one, prone to smile. She gazes at them with a sinking dread, hoping but doubting that they will ever see those changes occur in their son. She collects the wand, perhaps it will give the healers something to work with.

 

“We should alert the Ministry,” Moody’s gruff voice is not unkind.

 

“Yes…. and St. Mungo’s.” 

 

Minerva feels half in a trance. 

 

Remus holds out his hand for her to give him the weapon, “I’ll take care of that.”

 

He looks weary, almost a decade older than his short years. 

 

“I’ will go to Augusta. It is best someone tells her before the rumors start to circulate. We were girls together.”

 

Her companions nod assent and she presses Neville to her tightly as she disapparates from the scene of horror. He is so small but he’s already suffered too much. She makes a promise then and there that she will be ready next time, and he will be the last victim. Perhaps it is not too late for him. He will be scarred inevitably, but he need not be like the wreck of a woman she’s left behind. By the time Voldemort was defeated, there wasn’t enough of Bellatrix left to save. The mercy would have been a simple Avada Kedavra , but she’d balked at the thought, just as she had decades before when she’d had the opportunity to prevent all of this from ever happening. Next time she would reach first for the blade and later of the distaff. That there would be a next time was certain. It was a heavy thought, but one that was inescapable if one accepted responsibility.


End file.
